Disposable
by SaneYaoiAddict
Summary: After all the abuse from his father, Matt is determined to have his own revenge-knowing that if his father had any idea what he did now, he would hate him more than ever before.


_**God, I wrote this in March. Sorry. XD**_

_ "You piece of shit!"_

_ Mail did his best to restrain a whine, a whimper, as his dad grabbed him by his too-large shirt, and a groan as he was forcibly slammed into the wall. If he showed any pain, he knew from experience that it would only hurt more__—__so, so much more. His father said he deserved it, for "being such a useless pussy." _

_ Mail knew he wasn't worthless, that he was one of the smartest kids in his class__—__he just didn't want __to do the work, no matter how much his dad hurt him for it. The standards would only be raised, again and again, if Mail improved his behavior. Something would always be wrong with him._

_ "You're shit on the field, can't fuckin' play any damn sports, like a man. Hell, you're not even good in school, like your mother!"_

_ Mail didn't mind the words so much, even though they seeped into his mind, a poison that rotted his soul. No, it was they physical abuse, the pain, he could hardly handle. _

_"Useless!"_

_ A hand struck Mail's cheek, but he managed to stay standing, though his legs buckled from the force and sudden pain of the impact. He winced, but didn't allow any sound to escape._

_ When the abuse finally seemed to stop—at least, for the moment—Mail slumped to the floor, tears beginning to leak from his eyes as he brought his knees to his chest, holding them tightly. His father had shown no mercy this time—not that he ever did._

_ He looked at Mail, crying pathetically on the ground, hoping that the violence was over, with disdain, a sour expression on his face. _

_ "You aren't my son."_

_ The words were said emotionlessly, and he grabbed Mail's shirt forcefully, pulling him to the door, not caring that the eight-year-old could hardly keep up, or even manage not to keep tripping over his own feet._

_ "Get out, you piece of trash, and don't you ever come back."_

_ Those were the last words he heard from his father, as he was shoved out onto the stone steps, stumbling and falling onto his hands and knees, scraping them in the process._

_ That day, he vowed he would get back at his father somehow. No matter what, his dad, and the world, would never even care. But he could make himself noticed, and take pleasure knowing his father would regret bringing him into this world, even more than he already did._

Matt stood near the exit of the club with a predatory gaze, leaning against the wall casually. He took a drag of his cigarette as he watched the crowd, trying to choose which girl he would take home for the night.

He spotted a blonde, stumbling drunkenly as she attempted to dance, across the building. Immediately he walked over to her, casually offering her his hand.

"You look like you're having fun."

The girl, scarcely dressed, nodded, smiling even as she stumbled again, grabbing Matt's hand to keep from falling again. He helped her back on her feet, putting on another gentleman-like act.

He shot her a grin before he continued speaking, trying to keep all his confidence and cockiness from his voice, acting kind and concerned.

"Would you like to go with me? We'll have lots of fun. Promise."

He hated how he had to dumb his speech to talk to the girls he manipulated. But at least as soon as he got them home, there wasn't any talking, only a constant rush of ecstasy—for him, anyway.

The girl looked at him, as seriously as she could, in her drunken state. He was nervous as she looked him over; he'd been beaten as a child for his red hair, that he'd inherited from his mother.

But he allowed the girl to check him out; he knew it would build a false trust, and allow him to do anything he wanted by manipulating that trust.

The girl finally nodded, giggling as he began leading her through the club, holding her tightly by the arm so she wouldn't leave him, very much as a master leads a dog.

Mello's head turned to the door as Matt walked in. When he noticed the girl, he said, "Jesus, Matt, another one?"

Matt just smirked, leading the girl to his bedroom. "I like blondes."

He threw an arm over the girl's shoulder, more of an attempt to balance her than an expression of affection—she was far too drunk for him to even need to bother faking it—and disappeared into the bedroom. Mello heard the door lock, and shortly after, heard the girl's moans, which made him sick as he knew exactly what Matt was doing with her. She was the third girl this week.

Though the girl's moaning made him furious and jealous, he couldn't help but be aroused by Matt's groans, only growing louder—and more arousing—as the minutes passed.

Mello knew if he peeked through the slight crack in the door, he would see Matt, completely naked and vulnerable, unaware of his gaze. But he couldn't—he didn't want to see the man he'd lusted after so long receiving pleasure from another. And a girl, no less!

So, he just walked to the bathroom—so close to Matt's room that he could hear everything, even louder than before—ashamed of himself, and began imagining matt fucking _him, _doing everything he knew he was doing to that _slut _in his bed.

Mello heard the girl giggle a few moments later, before slurring, "That _was_ fun."

He quickly finished, not wanting Matt to know he'd been getting off to _him, _for God's sake.

As he exited the bathroom, drying his freshly-washed hands on a towel, Matt was just shutting and locking the front door, with no sign of the girl that had been there a moment before.

"I'm done with her," Matt said as Mello looked around, finding the room empty. He was glad, though he didn't show it, that she, like all the other girls, had never stayed once Matt was done with them.

Mello didn't care to mention how many girls he'd gone through since they moved in together, or that he would do anything just to be one of them, though he would only be used once, then discarded.

But that number—increased, after tonight, to 198—was burned into his mind. He remembered each one of those nights, how each girl had _enjoyed _it, how Matt had been closer to them than the one person he'd allowed himself to trust.

Matt slowly walked over to Mello as he was lost in his thoughts, who still stood near the wall, until he was within a foot's distance from him. Mello took one look at Matt's face and instinctively backed away, hands flat against the wall. He felt a bit worried, from the almost-predatory way Matt looked at him; he'd never seen him like this before.

Or at least, not in a way directed at _him. _

"…But it's not enough."

He grabbed Mello's shoulders tightly, with strength he hardly ever used, slamming him against the wall he was already pressed against. Matt forced down Mello's pants, not even bothering to notice Mello's shock, or that he smirked, blushing as well, instead of pushing him away, as he would have if he didn't want this to happen.

Though it hurt as Matt took him dry, not bothering—or knowing; it seemed to be his first time doing this with a guy, or anal in general, as he seemed inexperienced—to get lube, and not even making it _good _for Mello, because of his obvious inexperience, Mello let him continue, silent, listening to Matt murmur to himself.

After Matt finished, releasing his constricting grip on Mello and allowing him to fall to the ground, wincing as the pain shot through him, he took a few steps away and smirked to himself as he muttered, "He'd hate me now."


End file.
